


Two Sides of a Coin

by kylostahp (hawkeward)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bala-Tik: Kind of Into It Actually, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Hux: Makes a Prisoner at His Mercy Suck Him Off, M/M, Tell That To Kanjiklub, Unfortunate Abuse of Scottish Accents by an American Author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6672064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeward/pseuds/kylostahp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wouldn't think a day involving Han Solo and a rathtar attack could get any worse, but that was before Bala-Tik found himself handcuffed to a chair on a Star Destroyer, at the mercy of the First Order's General Hux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Sides of a Coin

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to [brood-mother](http://brood-mother.tumblr.com/), actual Scot, for weeding through the confused jumble of transatlantic pop culture English that was my devastatingly American writing and offering many helpful suggestions for authenticity. Any remaining linguistic inconsistencies are probably the places I didn't take their advice.

As if it wasn’t enough that he’d lost good men to a bunch of dumb animals, that Solo had escaped with both his skin and the droid, or that the First Order had apparently decided to hold him responsible—the overlapping ion pulses of multiple stun bolts had fried the circuitry of his leg, leaving it a stiff, twitchy mess unable to support him. He couldn’t even walk like a man from the shuttle that brought him to the _Finalizer,_ the ‘troopers had to drag him.

Kanjiklub had bolted after Solo escaped in the pre-Empire junker of a light freighter that had been nestled away in the _Eravana’s_ hanger, but Bala-Tik had thought it worthwhile to stick around—regroup and dispatch the rest of the rathtars, salvage what they could from the dead, maybe poke through the ship’s computer and see if they couldn’t suss out where Solo might be headed next.

He had thought wrong. The First Order arrived within a standard hour and caught them with their trousers ‘round their ankles, and now the toes of his boots were bumping over the near-invisible seams in a Star Destroyer’s polished floor, on his way to an interrogation room.

He hoped there were still enough rathtar guts on them to leave a nice streak for the cleaning droids.

The room they brought him to was bare, save for a sturdy durasteel chair bolted to the floor in the center, and a lighter, more comfortable-looking one tucked neatly against one wall. The ‘troopers deposited him in the central seat, cuffed his wrists to the unforgiving metal at his back, and took up guard positions flanking the door.

He didn’t bother testing the cuffs for give. The only way out of this mess was going to be through it to the other side, one way or the other—he didn’t plan on going quietly, but he knew when to save his strength. Han Solo would be having his innards pulled out nice and slow, assuming he ever again clapped eyes on the man.

He’d just managed to find a halfway-comfortable position when the door hissed open, both ‘troopers snapping to attention at the sound.

The stiff-postured man in the doorway was high-rank military from his polished boots to his starched collar, along with every stitch of stiff, near-black uniform between. A youthful, spacer-pale face crowned with a slicked-down thatch of fiery red hair would have dampened the effect, save for the look of pure disdain in the man’s pale eyes.

Bala-Tik knew him, at least by reputation. General Hux.

One of the ‘troopers fetched the room’s other chair, situating it facing him. The general sat, crossing long legs at the knee, and regarded Bala-Tik like he was something unidentifiable left on the floor by a disliked pet.

“Bala-Tik,” Hux said, bringing up his datapad to glance at the the screen. “Of the so-called... Guavian Death Gang _.”_

“General Hux,” Bala-Tik replied, not bothering to keep surliness out of his voice and expression. “Of the _Worst_ Order.”

Hux’s face didn’t so much as twitch, and his voice maintained the same note of bored condescension. “It has come to our attention of late that representatives of your organization in this sector have been involved in illicit arms trafficking, black market sale of First Order materiel, black market purchase of First Order materiel with intent to resell, embezzlement of First Order funds, misappropriation of materiel entrusted to you for shipment, and a number of related contract breaches we need not detail.”

He leaned back, balancing the datapad on his knee and training his cool gaze on Bala-Tik’s face. “Furthermore, you were recently aboard the same derelict, under-crewed excuse for freight hauler as a certain BB-unit and two fugitives wanted by the First Order, and yet they _somehow_ slipped through your fingers.”

“Kriff off, Hux,” Bala-Tik snapped. “If you and all your toy soldiers couldn’t find that blasted droid on a dustball like Jakku proper, it’s a wonder you can find your own pricks for your morning wank. I’d like to see _you_ try chasing down a droid the size of a grav-ball while a rathtar caresses your arse with its tentacles.”

“That’d be a fine sight—the great General Hux, stripped of all your self-important swagger and revealed as the little ginger piss-streak you are the moment you have to do your own dirty work. No wonder your ‘troopers are all brain-scrubbed, there’s not a one who’d follow you elsewise.”

Hux waited patiently for him to finish, attitude that of a parent prepared to tolerate a child’s tantrum until it exhausted itself. Then he angled his head to address the door guards. “Leave us.”

They left without question, the door hissing shut smartly behind them.

Hux stood, setting the datapad on his vacated chair, and stepped forward to grip Bala-Tik’s chin in a gloved hand. His thumb traced lazily down the line of his cheek to his lips, delving between them to rub the leather-covered pad roughly over his teeth. The invading digit worked insistently back and forth, coaxing his jaw open until Hux could fill his mouth with gloveleather and grime, pressing down into the hollow of his tongue to make him press back reflexively against the intrusion.

“You have,” he drawled, “a truly _singular_ mouth on you, Bala-Tik.”

Now _this_ was ground Bala-Tik knew well—no one got much of anywhere these days without sucking a bit of cock, one way or another—and it made the situation much more... manageable. He curled his lips back from Hux’s thumb in an expression that was half grin and half animal snarl, meeting the general’s eyes in challenge. Hux’s expression didn’t change, but he tugged his other glove off with his teeth and dropped it to the floor, bared hand going to the closure of his trousers to free his cock from its confines and stroke it briefly to full hardness. He withdrew his thumb from Bala-Tik’s mouth and swiped it down his chin in a wet trail, then took a loose hold on his hair.

“Put it to use.”

Hux was probably thinking he’d resist, so Bala-Tik opened his mouth without hesitation, taking Hux’s cock deep and cradling it on his tongue. It wouldn’t be his best work, without the use of his hands, but he knew what he was about. Skin-warm leather on his tongue had already started a dirty thrill sparking up and down his spine, and replacing it with heated flesh—just barely salty with precome—stoked that spark into an aching fire nestled in his belly. He sucked sloppily, hollowing his cheeks as he drew back and playing his tongue over the underside of the head as he descended again, paying no mind to the slick spit coating his lips and chin.

Hux made an appreciative noise through his nose and withdrew, cock slipping obscenely from Bala-Tik’s mouth and resting against his cheek. “You’ve done this before.”

“Not as much as I bet _you_ have, Academy-boy.” Bala-Tik could _smell_ him, cock hot and wet against his skin—heady musk and faint, sour sweat beneath military-issue sanitizer and clean linen. Human filth and scum, simmering just below that over-polished surface, and _stars above_ but that was enough to make him strain against his own trousers. “How many cocks did you suck down to get where you are now? You probably gargled an entire brigade of old bastards’ balls to even make lieutenant. You’d tickle your chin on Vader’s own codpiece if it’d earn you another bit of piping on your sleeve.”

Hux didn’t react, still wearing a serene little half-smile as he pressed his cock lazily across Bala-Tik’s face, smearing spit and pre-come in its path. Bala-Tik twisted, pulling against the hand in his hair to rasp his stubbled cheek over the shaft. He didn’t have enough purchase to cause real discomfort, but Hux’s lip twitched with a sharp inhale as his sensitive skin caught and scraped on the rough hair.

“And to think—all those crusty relics got their perks of rank in that dirty little mouth of yours, got to make you choke and muss up your pretty hair, and yet here you are getting yours with _me_ , ‘cause there’s no one else’ll do it for you.”

The head of Hux’s cock pushed at his lips and he opened indulgently, letting it slide in over his teeth and scrape the roof of his mouth on its way to the back of his throat. He took Hux to the root this time, nose teasing at the sweat-damp copper curls there, and fought his own need to breathe as he swallowed rhythmically around him.

He was light-headed by the time Hux pulled back again, tipping his head up with a rough tug on his hair. A faint flush showed high on the general’s smooth, pale cheeks, betraying his otherwise lazily disinterested expression. “Well? You must have more in you than just that. Go on, let’s hear it.”

Bala-Tik coughed, sucking air in harsh gasps until he could speak again, deliberately ignoring the jut of Hux’s cock into his face. “You like the sound of my voice, then, General? Like knowing you’re getting your rocks off with boot-scrape rimmer scum like me? Must’ve been all that Core-bred spunk polishing your throat that got _your_ speech all nice and Coruscanti-posh like that, or you’d sound just the same.”

“Yeah, I know where you come from, Imp-Ex—same place as the rest of us rimkin, out where polite society is a myth and you’re either the fucker or the one getting fucked. Don’t need two guesses to see which you are, no matter how much you fancy yourself the other. If not for your da and your _supreme leader_ , you’d be a two-credit cantina whore on some no-name world, hoping to earn your day’s rations with a bellyfull of come and shooting plasteel bearings out of your loose arse for tips.”

The flush on Hux’s face was spreading and he had his bare hand squeezing his cock, and Bala-Tik _really_ wished own his hands weren’t restrained because he wanted nothing more than to stroke himself off to the image of the high-and-mighty General of the First Order coming undone at the suggestion of himself turning tricks in a filthy backwater.

“And like as not it’d be _me_ fucking your face there in the smoke and filth, down on your knees moaning for me in some dark corner,” he added, ignoring the hoarseness creeping into his voice. “Bet you’d even try to rut yourself off against my boot while you sucked, your lonely little prick all swelled up and leaking just from having your mouth used hard and rough.”

He stretched forward to lick over the wet head of Hux’s cock, eyes locked on the general’s as he flicked the point of his tongue over the slit. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, General?”

Hux’s fist jerked painfully in his hair and he pushed roughly back in, finally fucking his mouth in earnest. Bala-Tik relaxed as best he could, slackening his jaw against the assault and letting the general take what he wanted, eyes falling half-shut as his pulse pounded in his ears over the sound of Hux’s harsh panting. A few arrhythmic thrusts and another eye-watering tug on his scalp were the only warning he had before Hux came, flooding his mouth with his hot, bitter spend.

He couldn’t avoid swallowing some of it, gagging convulsively as it slid down his abused throat. More dribbled out over his chin as Hux held him forcefully in place, letting his cock soften on his tongue before finally releasing him and pulling away. Mouth finally freed, Bala-Tik twisted as much as he could and spat the rest to the floor, coughing wetly.

Hux tucked himself back into his pants and retrieved his discarded glove, tugging it on briskly. “The Supreme Leader wishes me to inform you that the bounty on the BB-unit is now one hundred thousand, with another thirty apiece for the fugitives. An escort will be here shortly to guide you to the impoundment hangar where your ship is waiting, and you may be on your way.” He scooped up the datapad from his chair, glancing over its screen and tapping in a sequence of commands as he turned to leave. “I suggest you find that droid, or cease all operations in this sector permanently.”

Bala-Tik spat again, the bitter taste of come thick in the back of his throat. His cock still throbbed rock-hard in his trousers, a wet spot blooming where the tip leaked against the fabric, and there was no doubt in his mind he’d be dragged back out through the corridors like that for all to see—mouth bruised and swollen, spit and come drying on his face, legs unable to support him—clearly having been used hard and yet left wanting.

On the other hand, the fantasy of Hux’s bright hair between his thighs under the table of a third-rate cantina would be fuelling his own orgasms for _weeks,_ at the least. It was as fair a trade as he was likely to get from the man.

The general paused at the door, smoothing the impeccable lines of his uniform before keying it open. “And if you happen upon Tasu Leech,” he added blandly, not even turning his head, “You can inform Kanjiklub of the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come harass me on [tumblr](http://kylostahp.tumblr.com) about my headcanon that Bala-Tik is an Academy dropout.


End file.
